


@CaptainAmerica1913

by Daringdoublebassist



Series: Nat/Mia Shorts [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/F, F/M, Injured Natasha Romanov, Twitter, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-03-02 10:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13316694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daringdoublebassist/pseuds/Daringdoublebassist
Summary: The next morning dawned brightly on a trending tag ‘romanogers’.Maria almost cried as she found a new picture, captioned ‘What do you mean you guys don’t believe me?’ with Steve posing on a bed beside sleeping Natasha, wearing the ostentatious bold reds of a Black Widow pyjama set.





	1. Chapter 1

“Tony persuaded Steve into creating a Twitter.” Natasha paused, the food-filled fork dangling dangerously over her lap. “Is that how you say it – creating an account?” She shovelled the omelette into her mouth before it could escape, and shrugged. “Well, anyway, Steve’s on Twitter!”

It was not in Maria’s nature to gawk, but around Natasha Romanoff it was a whole different story. How could someone so beautiful have such poor table manners?

Natasha checked her watch, and glugged at her water glass. “It’s got something to do with P.R. Fans. You know?”

“Mmhm,” Maria could barely respond, before the lovely, painstakingly prepared meal was gulped down by her one-and-only. She sighed. Maybe this was their curse – to never manage a leisurely meal? Last night it was her rushing off, but now was Natasha. Maria had not even consumed half her plateful. 

“He can’t really use it,” Her spouse continued, standing to rinsing the plate at the sink. “I’ll teach him to upload selfies, it’ll be grand.”

“Turn off location tracker!” Maria managed, before savouring a long kiss with her woman. Goodbyes were important. 

Both she and the kitchen took a few days to recover from Natasha’s mealtime carnage. It wasn’t the first-time egg had found its way up a wall, but it was the only time that egg had been cooked. The floor had needed scrubbing too, as along with remnants of parsley ground into the tiles, Maria also discovered flecks of blood. Occupational hazard, she reasoned, elbow-deep in a bucket of disinfectant. 

It was about this time that the house phone rang. Only a select few knew that number. 

“Hello?”

“Steve Rogers has a Twitter account.”

Maria blew out a breath she had been holding; it was just Barton. 

“Hello Clint, long time no speak. I’m fine thank you, how are you?” She huffed, pulling out the cord to enable her to slide into a seat at the table. 

“No time for pleasantries, Maria. Steve Rogers has a Twitter account!” Clint’s tone was almost feverish with excitement. Maria almost felt bad for breaking this bubble. 

“I know, Tony set him up with it or something?”

“The press think he’s dating your wife.” 

That was indeed exciting news. It excited hatred deep in Maria’s bones. She did her best not to demand answers straight away, but settled on a tone that had new recruits running for their lives.

“Why?” She hissed. 

“You’ll see. It’s @CaptainAmerica1913. Take a look.” 

She didn’t hang up immediately, as the devil on her shoulder was taunting her to, but Maria did open the account’s page. The first upload, dated 14 hours previously, was a photograph of Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff playing Connect Four on the floor of their designated safe house. From 8 hours ago, a picture of the breakfast Natasha had cooked for Steve. Maria’s stomach rumbled reflexively. 

Dated 3 hours ago, @CaptainAmerica1913 had uploaded a selfie with his arm around Natasha’s shoulders; he almost swamped her with muscles. This image had been retweeted three thousand times. But the picture from 11 minutes ago was already trending: it was a shot of Natasha in the cute Captain America-themed shorts and t-shirt set that Maria had bought her for a joke two years ago. Captioned, was the phrase ‘I’m her biggest fan too!’.

“Oh.” Maria managed to verbalise, remembering the open line when Clint snickered. “Nat’s going to kill him.”

“I’d say so.” Her brother-in-law chortled.

Maria moaned, “I bought her those pyjamas!”

“Oh,” He blurted out a laugh. “Then she may kill you, too!” 

“Oh my God-” She realised the most fatal horror in this comedy of errors. “And Natasha bought him Black Widow pyjamas for Christmas this year!”

She slammed the phone down when Clint wouldn’t stop laughing. 

The next morning dawned brightly on a trending tag ‘romanogers’. Maria almost cried as she found a new picture, captioned ‘What do you mean you guys don’t believe me?’ with Steve posing on a bed beside sleeping Natasha, wearing the ostentatious bold reds of a Black Widow pyjama set. 

She wondered idly who her wife would murder first, and prepared another omelette for Natasha’s homecoming. It would be fitting to end this as it started.


	2. Chapter 2

Though her senses fired up at the camera flash, Natasha disregarded them and groaned. “Not another photo!”

Early morning sunlight filtered in through the blinds and sprayed out along the bed linen. She smelled a masculine cologne and sighed into it. The weight beside her shifted and tugged at the blankets, and Steve chuckled in his low, husky morning tones. 

“Morning, Nat.”

She eyeballed him from beneath the soft duvet, “What are you doing in my bed, Rogers?”

“I’m not in your bed, Romanoff. I’m on it!” Steve smirked, and continued to readjust the light settings on his camera phone. 

She flung her arms over her head and stretched. Something in her back audibly clicked, and it felt exquisite. Her eyes opened to another flash too offensive for such an early hour.

“God, You’re like a teenager with their first gadget.”

Steve bounced down beside her and wiggled in. “I don’t know why, but I just want to take pictures of everything. It’s really strange. I don’t look at them afterwards, I feel like I want to have them just in case.”

Natasha huffed, “You sound obsessed. Stop pointing that thing at me.”

“But you’re so beautiful. And also, my girl.”

“Only for this mission.” She pulled herself out of the covers and escaped to her closet. What would Natasha’s character wear on a warm, dull day? Mini-skirt and t-shirt? Should she choose something that would look good for her boyfriend's camera? Would she worry about that sort of thing?

“That’s probably for the best.” Steve, already dressed in chinos and a black tank, spread his limbs akimbo on the bed. “Your morning breath is horrific. You’re lucky Hill’s learned to live with it.”

“You are so rude.” She laid the clothes out on the bed beside him and continued into the bathroom.

He had made breakfast when she reappeared, dressed. 

“Blueberry pancakes!” He announced, in a tone typical of their daily one-upmanship. The tiny table in their kitchenette was adorned with plates of fruit and bowls of condiments. There were even daffodils in a gravy boat. 

“And there’s bacon.” Steve pulled out a chair for her, and Natasha came face-to-face with a creepy-looking smiling pancake. “This guy is yours.”

He must have seen her bemusement as a moment later he was snickering into his camera phone. “Smile, Nat!”

She doubted her smile was any more than a bleak grimace. “What are you doing with all those pictures?”

“Sending them to your wife.” He swigged at a coffee cup, and decorated his pancake: berries tumbled between his fingers, and whipped cream sprayed with a flourish. “Making her jealous.”

“Why would Maria be jealous?” She cut lines through the creepy pancake, and planted a piece in her mouth. “You’re not a woman.” Annoyingly, it tasted like heaven. The berries popped as she bit down, and juice ran over her tongue. 

Steve, shovelling in fist-sized portions of his own breakfast gave her a grin, “You know I’d make an excellent woman.”


	3. Chapter 3

The omelette had long since congealed in its pan. Natasha thumped around in the hallway, before falling noisily over the shoe rack. Maria, on her knees trying to deworm the cat, didn’t look up. She was getting all the nasty jobs out the way now while the blood boiled in her veins, while she still had energy to get them done. Liho mewled and scratched, but finally swallowed the tablet. Now all Maria had to do was bawl at her wife, and cat-watch. 

“Mia?” Natasha had righted herself, and hobbled into the living room. “Sorry I’m late.”

Maria sighed heavily, snapping the deworming bottle closed. She washed her hands at the kitchenette sink and eyeballed the morose-looking cat. 

“I asked Steve to call ahead, but I guess he didn’t?” Voice huskier than usual, she choked on the last few syllables. Maria heard her lift the pan and sniff. It clanged back onto the hob.

“He didn’t need to call. I read about it all online.” Maria turned her head sharply to meet Natasha’s olive eyes. “How could you Nat?”

Natasha’s lips formed an ‘O’, and she cocked her head inquisitively. “Online? I didn’t see any reporters.” She brushed a hand over Maria’s arm; plaster cast irritated and scrubbed at her bare skin.

Their apartment fell still as Maria turned to survey her. Her wife looked shattered; her forehead creased above dark eyes. Bruises peppered her jaw and neck, disappearing into the collar of her shirt. One hand was wrapped in a cast, the other, bandaged and raised above her heart. Dried blood speckled her mouth and flaked around her nose. Yet, Natasha’s expression remained conflicted; Maria wondered whether she was truly unaware of Steve’s Twitter account. 

‘She would never agree to him posting those photos, Maria.’ Clint had argued during their weekly telephone call, as she drowned herself in an unforgiving tub of chocolate gelato. ‘He’s an idiot, but clearly she trusts him with this.’ 

Maria decided that made Natasha a bit of an idiot too – because, how could she!

“Mia, talk to me? You’re making your scary grumpy face.” Natasha was lifting the mobile hand once again towards Maria’s face. Frustrated, she caught it in a firm grip before it could touch her, and to her horror, her wife gasped out a moan. Maria released her and pulled back. 

“Mia.”

Maria sunk her teeth into her own lip.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

The breath left her mouth in a rush, and she straightened. 

“Steve’s been posting photos of you both on his Twitter.” There. She said it. Now her wife would understand her aggravation.

“Show me.”

Such a simple request, but when it came to finding her phone and waiting for the bookmarked page to load, Maria wished she could spare them both this suspense. 

Natasha’s eyes found the pinned post – the shot of Steve in his Black Widow pyjamas – and she let out a tiny moan, slumping onto the loveseat. Maria followed her down, but sat rigid on the edge of the cushion. 

“Maria…” Words appeared to fail her, and Natasha held her head momentarily before taking a breath and trying again. “Maria, you know I love you?”

Maria nodded stiffly, wondering where this was going.

“Maria, I would never cheat on you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Maria, I would never cheat on you.”

Maria regarded her in silence, eyes tracking over her face. She rolled icy blue eyes, and sighed heavily. 

“Forgive my vanity, Natasha, when I say ‘I know’.” 

The apartment seemed to chill at those words. Natasha watched her beloved lean backwards, sliding down into the cushions. The cat padded in and sprawled leisurely over her feet, ears twitching to the ticking of the kitchen clock.

Natasha didn’t bother studying Maria’s face – her stiff neck ached when she looked that way. She barely managed to suppress a yawn, finding her vision blurring around the edges.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on me.” Maria’s voice cut like glass through the fog in her brain. If she wasn’t worried about Natasha’s fidelity, what was the problem with the photos? She would have liked nothing more than to shut her eyes and collapse onto the cool floor. 

“The pictures, Nat.” Maria snatched the phone back and scrolled down. The warmth of her quick touch vanished from Natasha’s skin. “On this one, there’s a road sign!” 

Natasha tried to focus on the image, but the light hurt her eyes and her wife sounded like she was speaking to her from underwater. 

“You…?”

“Of course you’re not cheating on me, Nat.” Maria was trying to explain her point again, “But he’s been careless with some pretty critical information – and he photographed you in bed, which obviously, I’m not happy with-”

Strong arms pulled her close as Maria wrapped her up, lips brushing her hairline. Natasha relaxed, boneless into her wife. She was warm and in a cuddle; she didn’t have to worry that her vision was being limited by dark patches, and her forehead was splitting in two with searing heat. It only really mattered when Maria suggested dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

Their evening did not conclude with dinner. The omelette stayed congealed in its pan, for when her wife did not rouse from the cuddle, Maria had called in a favour. In record time, they were transported to the nearest Stark Foundation walk-in. 

Rigid plastic seats and a strong smell of disinfectant did nothing to soothe Maria as she held Natasha close. Her spouse had begun to shiver at some point during the drive over. Keeping an ear open to listen for Natasha’s ticket number to be called, she shoved a single Bluetooth headphone into the other. 

“I’ve called Steve,” Clint’s voice warbled over the phone line. “For information regarding the mission. He may know where she came by those injuries.”

“I don’t want to speak to him.” Maria grouched, pressing kisses to Natasha’s sweaty forehead. 

“I won’t tell him not to come, Maria.” Clint advised. “He’s an idiot for putting all that online, but he wouldn’t ever harm her.”

“I think he’s an idiot regardless.”

Natasha moaned and struggled to free herself from the blankets encasing her. 

“Baby, I know you think you’re hot, but you’re too cold.” Maria tried to hold her tighter. “Babe, please stop moving.”

“Let me take her.” 

Maria hadn’t even noticed the newcomer entering her field of vision. She started. 

“Pepper?!”

“Oh yeah, and I snapchatted the Avengers.” Clint’s voice added in her ear, as Pepper reached out and snagged Maria’s precious little bundle. “They’ll watch Nat while you stretch your legs.”

“There’s food in this cooler,” The newcomer offered a compact carrier. “Tony’s around here somewhere. Go see if you can find him.” She didn’t take no for an answer, and kicked out at Maria’s legs when she tried to stay put. “I’ll make the nurse come get you when Natasha’s called. Now go on!”

With her stiff back aching and guilt gnawing at her stomach, Maria was glad she didn’t have far to wander. She found Tony lurking by the copse of vending machines. 

“What do you think about a Stark Industries line in fizzy pop, Hill?” He met her eyes in the reflection of a glass-fronted soda machine. 

Maria’s mind danced briefly over a quip about motor oil, but she found she didn’t have the energy to engage. Tony seemed to understand. He turned his head and met her tired gaze.

“How’s Tasha?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating, I had extensive internet problems. Thank you all for your patience!

Natasha came into consciousness debating reasons as to why her eyelids were stitched together with gritty crud. She only ever felt this facially-congested after missions in which she’d been bombed out, and then in exhaustion, gone to sleep without showering. She couldn’t remember being bombed recently. She couldn’t remember being anywhere significant recently.

“Nattie, are you waking up?” 

That sounded like Maria. A gruff, raspy version of Maria. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Natasha struggled with her eyes. How long had her wife been waiting? What for?

Hands ghosted over her head and neck. Something tugged at the skin on the back of her hand. Her nose itched and she felt something laid out across both cheeks. 

Where was she?

When she finally managed to prise both sets of exhausted lids apart, Natasha’s eyes found the dark walls of a small room. She lay in a cot with white sheets; a bedside table stood to her left, mounted with flowers and a water jug. A lamp in the corner shone towards a chair, which was occupied by her pale-faced wife. 

“Nattie?”

“M-” She tried to say her name, but the words choked in her sandpaper throat. She wheezed out a few coughs, and sipped at a proffered straw. Water. Cool, sweet water. It glided over her tongue and towards the back of her mouth. It calmed her.

“Mia.”

“It’s so good to see you!”

Natasha decided that she couldn’t say the same about her wife. Her skin shone grey, and her hair was mussed and greasy. She sported deep red rings around both eyes, and a scarlet nose. She looked ill. 

But having felt the cooling touch of the water against her throat, and the heaviness of her limbs as she made to reach for Maria’s calloused hands, Natasha supposed she may also be ill. Her stomach rolled and cramped as she tried to lift her head from the pillow. 

“Don’t try to move yet, Nattie. You’ve been so poorly.” Maria pressed a delicate kiss to her jaw. “The doctor said you’ll take a little while to regain your full strength.”

“What happened?” Natasha managed to eke over her heavy tongue. 

“Do you remember your mission with Steve?”

The last she remembered was a meal in their kitchen before he was to collect her. Everything after that was… fuzzy.

“It went okay – the mission.” Maria sniffed, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You did so well baby. But, on the last day, you had a fever. You told your handler, but decided against evac.” She stroked a hand over Natasha’s hair, speaking slowly. “Both you and Steve had injuries, but you completed the objectives.” 

“You’ve been pretty unwell, my darling,” Natasha saw the tears forming in Maria’s eyes. “I didn’t notice. Not until you passed out on the sofa; I’m so sorry, baby.” 

From her wife’s mouth escaped a sob; Maria looked distraught and coughed like she was trying to cover it up. Nothing was making sense to Natasha. Injuries were fairly common-place in their line of work. ‘Occupational hazard, and all that’, as Clint liked to joke.

“Don’t cry, Mia,” She whispered, while her chilly fingers, tight with disuse, attempted to squeeze Maria’s hand. “I’m fine now. I’m here.”

“You weren’t, Nattie.” Maria rubbed the chills away. “And this hand is broken. Don’t try to move it.” 

“How’s Steve?”

“He’s fine. He’d healed by the next day.” A mumble of “stupid super powers” made Natasha raise an eyebrow to her beloved. A small part of her itched with questions, but was muffled by resignation that told her she knew exactly what was going on. She must have been unconscious for a few days. 

“How long?”

“Since the mission? 2 weeks.” 

“WHAT?!”


End file.
